


Night and Light and the Half Light

by the_moonmoth



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Coda, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-16
Updated: 2009-03-16
Packaged: 2017-10-12 01:56:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_moonmoth/pseuds/the_moonmoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Arthur doesn't know," Morgana said, too quickly, and for some reason Arthur felt as though the bottom had just dropped out of his stomach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night and Light and the Half Light

**Author's Note:**

> My first Merlin fic, and also the first thing I've written in a couple of years (wibble wibble), inspired by wondering how Merlin was going to explain his absences from Camelot in "Le Morte d'Arthur". The scenery towards the end is based on [Bradgate Park](http://pics.livejournal.com/the_moonmoth/gallery/000098d1), in Leicestershire. All feedback is appreciated, and concrit is welcome. Many, many thanks to for magnificent beta work, and for [inspiring](http://www.elise.com/quotes/quotes/yeats.htm) the title.

Arthur stared into the fire and considered Merlin. So many people had been in and out of his chambers since the previous evening that he'd only really realised that Merlin hadn't been one of them when his manservant had slipped through the door like a quiet apology a few moments ago. He supposed he'd just assumed that Merlin was helping Gaius, but thinking about it now, it did seem a little odd. Not that Merlin and the word 'normal' ever seemed to be in company, but there had been something about him this evening. Arthur was exhausted and sore and more than a little woolly-headed from the mixture of medicines and wine that Gaius had given him to dull the pain, but he realised now that he couldn't remember who had dressed him that morning. He'd just assumed Merlin would be there to take care of him in his clumsy, half-witted way, but maybe he hadn't been, after all.

Arthur frowned and picked up his wine again.

Merlin had said... he had seemed... he'd been subdued, upset about something, it seemed. And yet it wasn't so much what Merlin had said that had unsettled him which, yes, had been somewhat unexpected but certainly not beyond the usual bounds of Merlin's impertinence. Rather, it was the look on his face, as though, as though...

Arthur yawned and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his good hand. Glancing over his shoulder he winced both at the sharp pain this caused to shoot down his chest and arm, and at how far away the bed seemed to be. Forget Merlin for now – he was pretty upset about a few things himself, like not being able to move from bed to chair and back again without assistance. On balance, yes, he was rather glad that he hadn't died; he just wasn't sure whether he fully qualified as 'alive' yet.

He was contemplating whether it would take more energy to shout for someone to drag Merlin back or to just attempt to propel himself the distance when his father appeared at the door and, to Arthur's very great surprise, supported Arthur across the room and helped him get ready for bed.

*

Arthur dreamed of Merlin, wearing Bishop's robes and placing a crown on Arthur's head. He said, _you must learn to listen as well as you fight_ , and the words rang out through the great hall, echoes merging like pealing bells.

*

The next day Arthur awoke late to an empty room. A boy from the kitchens brought Arthur his breakfast, and when Merlin still hadn't appeared by the time the dishes were being cleared away, Arthur sighed and instructed the boy to go and find him. It was close to midday when Sir Kay's manservant appeared to help him bathe and dress, apologising that the kitchen boy had been unable to find Arthur's own manservant. A growing sense of unease sat in the pit of his stomach throughout the afternoon, filled again with visits from his father and the well-wishers of the court, and an assortment of servants, but no Merlin. Arthur considered whether he had the energy to work up a good stink about it.

It was only when the light was fading from the sky and he was sitting watching a maid make up the fire that he realised he also had not seen Gaius today. The servants had kept him supplied with various potions, but the wound continued to bleed a little and the dressing needed to be changed. Well, he was sure Gaius would be along before too long, and then he could ask him about Merlin, as well. And if it turned out the idiot had simply got lost looking for herbs for the physician, or something stupid like that... Arthur drifted in a pleasantly hazy state as the fire began to get going, imagining the many and creative ways to make Merlin regret his negligence.

*

He woke up in his bed to pain in his shoulder and a soft voice soothing his groans as gentle hands bathed his wound.

"Guinevere?" he asked, eyelids too heavy to lift.

"Yes, Sire."

"What happened to Gaius?" There was no reply and Arthur forced his eyes to open, squinting against the candlelight. Gwen was frowning slightly as she wrung out a cloth.

"He sends his apologies," she replied a moment later.

Arthur let his head fall back onto the pillow, disgruntled. "What, if I may ask, is more important than the health of the Crown Prince who, if anyone remembers, nearly died quite recently? And while we're at it, where the hell is Merlin?" he meant to say, but the sharp words died on his tongue as he squinted up at Gwen because, well, she was Gwen, and whatever had happened, it wasn't her fault.

"What time is it?" he asked instead.

"Past midnight."

"Then you should get some rest."

"Oh, don't worry about me," she said, smiling for the first time, and pulled the knot in his bandages tight. "All done. Sleep well, Sire."

Almost against his will, he did.

*

Arthur awoke with a start, his heart hammering from a dream that skittered away as he tried to remember it, the only image remaining that of Merlin's face, pale and drawn and eyes bright as he told Arthur, _Just... don't be a prat_.

It wasn't yet morning, the sky outside the window barely beginning to turn darkest blue from black, but Arthur swung his legs out of the bed and pulled on britches, boots, a long coat. Enough was enough – lighting a candle from the fire's embers, he forced his legs to carry him towards Gaius's chambers.

*

He wasn't sure what he'd expected, exactly – a squad of his knights grievously wounded, perhaps, or a pox in the lower town. He was certain, however, that what he had _not_ expected to see was Gwen asleep in a chair by Merlin's bed, and Merlin's mother, moaning softly in her sleep, breath rattling and looking horribly, horribly ill.

"Hunith!"

Gwen startled awake, looking confused for a moment before hurriedly tucking something into her pocket and standing to curtsey.

"What are you doing here, Sire?"

Arthur looked between Gwen, dark rings under her eyes, and the terrible welts marring Hunith's skin, and felt the sense of unease unfurl a little further in his stomach.

"Tell me," he said, "what is going on. Where are Merlin and Gaius?"

Gwen looked for a moment like she might want to cry, but her voice was steady when she replied, "I don't know, Sire. Hunith arrived the morning after you recovered, like this. I've been helping Merlin and Gaius care for her, but then I got a letter yesterday from Gaius, saying he had had to leave Camelot urgently. He left me instructions for your care because he said Merlin would be too preoccupied looking after his mother, but I haven't seen him either, not since Gaius left."

"Where have they gone?" Arthur demanded.

Gwen's eyes flicked to his face and then quickly away. "I don't know," she said.

"Gwen, what is it?"

For a moment, she looked troubled, then she brushed a strand of hair from her forehead and seemed to deflate a little. "Nothing, Sire. I'm sure, I'm sure it's important, whatever it is."

"Guinevere," Arthur said, more gently this time, taking her shoulder in his good hand. "Go and get some sleep, in your bed," he added, when she looked like she might protest. "I've had enough rest the last few days, I can look after Hunith for a few hours."

"Are you sure?" Gwen asked doubtfully, eyes going to his arm in the sling, under his coat.

"I can make it an order, if you like."

Gwen smiled slightly, "No need, I'll go." Stopping at the door to Merlin's bedroom she turned back. "Arthur? Thank you."

Arthur nodded and watched her go, then sank heavily into Gwen's chair, letting out a shaky breath, his whole body trembling from the exertion. A cup of water stood by the bedside, and Arthur made a final effort to reach over and take it, gulping down its contents before sagging back into the chair.

For a few minutes, he just concentrated on breathing regularly, forcing his muscles to relax and stop shaking. It was warm in here, a fire going strong in the small grate, and that helped. Arthur drifted for a while, watching Hunith's pained sleep, thinking that, even though this was terrible, at least things made more sense now.

*

 _Oh I know who you are_ , Merlin said, _arise, King Prat_ , and placed the crown on Arthur's head, but it was too heavy, making his neck ache. He reached up to massage his tight muscles but the movement brought him into wakefulness, leaving the crown behind but sadly not the ache. He sat up and stretched, looking around him – right, Merlin's room.

Morning light streamed through Merlin's tiny window high in the wall and Arthur rubbed his grainy eyes, struggling both to sit up and to be fully awake. His mind suddenly took him back to the banquet, months ago now, when a witch had cast a sleeping spell over the court and Arthur had fought to reawaken afterwards, a dusty-fine covering of cobwebs on his shoulders and a dagger flying for his heart. Merlin had saved his life, that day, and Arthur still remembered his very great indignation at finding his saviour to be the disrespectful fool he had had thrown in the cells the day before.

"Your son is an idiot," Arthur told Hunith, smiling to himself.

It was funny, though – before now he had never thought to wonder just how that witch had ended up under the chandelier, when everyone had been unconscious. Blind luck, he supposed. It hadn't escaped his notice that he did seem to have been born with a larger than average share.

Tentatively, Arthur pushed himself to his feet. His legs ached but he felt stronger. Picking up Hunith's empty cup, he took it down to Gaius's workroom to re-fill it with water, and grab some bread and an apple for breakfast.

Hunith seemed to have moved when he returned, fitful again and whimpering in what Arthur hoped was only semi-consciousness. Putting his things down he sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand as he had seen Gwen do earlier. Hunith sighed and turned her face towards him, though her eyes remained closed.

"Merlin?" she asked, voice cracked and weak.

Arthur hesitated, wondering what to do. He was not, he knew (largely thanks to Morgana), the most sensitive soul in the castle, but he liked Hunith an awful lot. She had made him feel welcome in her home in a way that was more than simply deferential, that same open, unquestioning warmth as her son. She had integrity and fight and he hated the way she was in so much pain that he could see it in every line of her body.

Hunith moaned softly, sounding almost too exhausted even for that. "Merlin?" she whispered again.

Arthur had never known his mother, and seeing Merlin and Hunith together had made him feel... not jealous, really, but somewhat bewildered, that parents could act like that with their children. He tried now to picture Merlin, natural and affectionate with Hunith in Ealdor, and gently squeezed Hunith's hand, and replied, "Yes, mother."

She smiled. "Thought you'd gone."

"Well... now I'm back again."

"We said goodbye," Hunith breathed, "we said..."

She looked pained, and Arthur couldn't tell if it was from the illness or from what she was trying to say, but after a few seconds her breath evened out a little and she seemed to be sleeping again. Arthur stayed seated on the bed for some time, absently holding on to Hunith's hand, breakfast forgotten, as he tried to think where on earth Merlin could have gone.

*

Gwen returned mid-morning with a small posy of flowers for Hunith's bedside, and Lady Morgana.

"Gwen said you'd be here, but I had to see it for myself," Morgana smiled, not unkindly.

"Yes, well, one does what one can. I don't suppose _you_ know where Merlin's got to? The dreadful shirker."

"Not a clue," Morgana said, shaking her head, but Arthur didn't miss the quick look she shot at Gwen. "He's _your_ manservant, Arthur," she continued blithely, "perhaps you ought to keep better care of him."

"I'm glad to see you're back to your normal self, anyway," Arthur muttered, as they left Gwen to tend to Hunith. Morgana didn't reply, and Arthur waited until he was closing the door to his quarters behind him before he turned on her. "You know something," he hissed, "don't you, Morgana."

The tightening of her jaw was the only move Morgana made, and Arthur realised that, really, she didn't look any better than the morning before he had been bitten, running down the castle steps in her night clothes, pale and wild-eyed and frightened.

Eventually, she said in a small voice, "I have a bad feeling."

"Like the questing beast, and the black knight, and, and bloody Sophia?" he wanted to ask, but somehow the words failed to form. They stared at each other in tense silence until a knock at the door brought Morris in.

"You sent for me, Sire?" he asked, after Arthur stared at him pointedly, eyebrows raised.

" _No_ ," Arthur said.

"Yes," Morgana smiled and, seeming to snap back to herself, brushed past them both with airy instructions to tend to his majesty while Merlin was on leave.

*

Arthur met his father and Morgana for lunch in the early afternoon. Uther was in a rare mood to praise Arthur, speaking of the progress his knights were making, the heart they took in their prince's strength.

"To know that we have not only banished magic from Camelot, but have conquered the Old Religion so thoroughly – our people take pride in you, Arthur. It gives them strength."

Uther ate and drank and gestured expansively with his goblet, all the time smiling paternally, and Arthur couldn't fully enjoy it because Morgana sat cutting her food into ever-smaller pieces and ate nothing.

After the meal, Arthur walked her back to her chambers and attempted to prop himself against the cool stone wall without looking like he needed to.

"You should get some rest," he started. "You don't look well."

"You know, you don't look so good yourself," she replied, sitting at her dressing table. "I wonder why that is."

Arthur let his head fall back and stared up at the ceiling. "What happened, in your dream?" he asked eventually.

Taking out an earring, Morgana seemed to freeze, her reflection staring hard at him in her mirror. "What are you talking about?"

"The morning I went out to slay the questing beast. You had a bad dream – you begged me not to go. You remember? In your nightclothes?"

Morgana was silent, then, voice flat, "I dreamed you were going to die."

Arthur nodded to himself and pushed off the wall. "Well, you were wrong, weren't you." He walked over until he was standing just behind her, their eyes meeting in the mirror's reflection. "Merlin'll be _fine_ ," he said firmly. "At the very least, whatever he's up to, if he's with Gaius he's not at the mercy of his own stupidity."

Morgana's painted mouth lifted into a half-hearted smile and she looked away. "Go and get some rest, Prince Charming, before you fall over," she instructed, but her voice sounded distant and almost sad.

*

Arthur sat at the high table, watching the rest of the court at the feast. Merlin stood before him, wearing his ridiculous servants' livery and the even more ridiculous hat. _Is there anything I can get for you, Sire?_

 _An actual manservant would be nice_ , Arthur replied irritably.

Merlin stared back, painfully earnest, and said _I'm happy to be your servant, until the day I die_. And then he was lifting the poisoned Mercian chalice to his lips and Arthur was glued to his seat unable to move or speak or _do_ anything.

"No!" Arthur shouted, sitting bolt upright, cursing Morgana for putting these thoughts in his head.

It was dark outside, but Arthur was still fully clothed, his afternoon nap having gone on for rather longer than intended. Breathing deeply, he tried to calm down, but the dream had been vivid and clung to him, his heart pounding every time he remembered Merlin falling to the ground.

"This is stupid," he muttered, and gulped down some wine and put on his boots and headed for Gaius's rooms. By the time he got there he'd almost convinced himself that Merlin and Gaius would be back, preparing a treatment and caring for Hunith. He swore silently at himself for his disappointment when he found Gwen instead.

But when he walked in, she turned to him and smiled broadly, and said, "I think she's starting to get better."

Arthur stopped, a little taken aback at the wave of relief that rushed through him, and said, "That's good news."

"Yes," Gwen agreed, and reached down to lay a hand gently on Hunith's shoulder. "Hunith," she said softly, "Prince Arthur has come to see you." She stood up and gestured for Arthur to take her seat. "I'm going to go and see if I can get some broth from the kitchens."

"Sire," Hunith smiled as he sat down, her voice still cracked, but sounding stronger.

"How do you feel? Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you, I'm well cared-for." She frowned, noticing his arm, "You're injured."

Arthur's hand went impulsively to his shoulder. "Yes, I... had a little run in on a hunting trip. It seems to be healing well, though." Hunith continued to look concerned, however, and Arthur remembered that he had wondered before at how easily her features seemed to settle into that expression.

"Gwen said that Merlin isn't here," she said after a moment.

"No. He and Gaius have gone..." he trailed off, struck by a thought. Arthur had assumed that Merlin and Gaius had gone looking for a cure for Hunith, but she appeared to be getting better by herself. Presumably they hadn't known that would happen, but then, why risk both of them going, and only Gwen to care for her, in amongst her other duties? "In fact, Hunith, we're not entirely sure where they've gone, or why. I don't suppose you can shed any light on the matter?"

She seemed to think for a moment or two. "I remember Merlin saying goodbye to me, but I felt close to death, I thought... but I'm healing," she said, pensive, as though it was hard for her to believe. "It's a miracle."

"Funny," Arthur said, "I've heard that somewhere else, recently." He could feel his brain latching on to something, but just then Gwen returned with Morgana and two servants, carrying a miniature feast for the four of them.

Morgana went immediately to Hunith's other side, kneeling down beside her. "Hunith. How are you feeling?"

Hunith had a Merlin-esque gleam in her eye when she replied, "All of a sudden, hungry, my lady."

*

The amazing thing was, Hunith really did seem to be recovering miraculously – it was hard to believe that a few hours ago she had been struggling to breathe. By the time they'd all finished eating, she spoke with more energy, able to sit propped up by pillows, and even the lumps and swellings on her face and hands appeared reduced.

"I'm so glad to see you getting better," Morgana said as she took her leave, Gwen promising to return after helping her to bed.

When they had gone, Hunith turned to Arthur. "You aren't tired?"

"I'm keeping my leisure these days," he said wryly, gesturing to his shoulder with his good hand. "I slept the afternoon away, and my penance will be a restless night if I go to bed now. But if you'd prefer me to leave?"

"Yesterday I thought I was dying," she murmured, "so I'm a little loath to give today up just yet."

Arthur nodded acknowledgement. They fell into silence, the fire popping and crackling in the grate, Arthur watching as Hunith's features fell into the familiar expression of worry, and he wondered again what kind of life she had led for such an expression to be so at home on her face.

"You're thinking about Merlin," he said.

"Yes." She turned to him then, "You really have no idea where he's gone?"

"No. I only saw him once after waking up – the bite was poisoned, I was unconscious for a few days," he explained, "but we only spoke for a couple of minutes and then he left again. I haven't seen him since."

Hunith watched him, small hands restless in her lap. "What did he say?"

Arthur thought back. "It was strange, actually. There were several insults about my general character, some advice about kingship – a little unusual, even for Merlin."

"You don't mind that he speaks his mind to you?" Hunith asked with a small smile.

"I don't think Merlin knows any other way to speak."

"You care about him." It wasn't a question. Hunith's eyes were warm, and Arthur felt something tighten in his chest.

"I suppose," he replied airily, allowing one corner of his mouth to twitch up, "in some of his less annoying moments."

Hunith chuckled softly. "He's lucky to have a friend like you, Prince Arthur." Arthur didn't quite know what to say to that, but it was alright because Hunith continued. "It was hard for Merlin, growing up in a place like Ealdor. He always had big dreams, far beyond our small lives."

"He didn't fit in," Arthur nodded, remembering their hushed conversation that night on Hunith's floor.

"No," and she was wistful now, almost sad.

"But he had Will," Arthur prompted. It didn't have the intended effect.

"William wasn't good for Merlin," Hunith said stiffly, and there was enough tension in her voice that Arthur knew not to push for more, though curious. He wondered if Hunith had known about Will's magic.

"How do you know Gaius?" he asked instead.

"Well, I was a maid here."

"What! Why didn't I know that?"

"It was a long time ago," she said, laughing at Arthur's surprise. "Twenty years or more – shortly before you were born, in fact. I was living with my cousin in the lower town at that time."

"Why did you leave?"

Hunith's smile turned a little secretive. "Merlin," she said simply, and sighed. "If only all my moments of youthful foolishness had brought me such joy."

Through his embarrassment, Arthur's mind latched onto something Hunith had said earlier. "Wait, if you were here before my birth..." but he didn't quite know how to finish that sentence, how to ask what he had desperately always wanted to know.

Hunith waited, watching him patiently. "My mother," he finally managed.

"Queen Igraine," Hunith said, voice gone soft. "You must have heard this before, but you look so much like her."

Suddenly it was hard to breath in the small room, the walls too close, the fire too hot, and Arthur muttered an excuse and stumbled from the room, not stopping until he reached the cool air of the courtyard. He stopped, leaning against the wall of the castle, taking deep, steadying breaths.

Then, running a hand down his face, he realised what an idiot he must have looked like to Hunith. He mentally shook himself, and went back up to Gaius's rooms.

"I'm sorry, Hunith," Arthur said, stepping just inside the doorway. "That was very rude of me. Please accept my apology."

She just looked at him, concern and understanding lighting her eyes. "There's nothing to apologise for, Sire."

"I do, however, think it's time I left you in peace. Thank you for your company this evening." And wishing her good night, he left for the safety of his chambers.

*

Sleep didn't come easily, though. Thoughts of his mother and Merlin, Hunith and Will, tangled up like Morgana's embroidery yarn in his head.

When he finally slept, he dreamed of his mother, a faceless, golden presence in the great hall, tapping a sword to his right shoulder, then his left. _You're a great warrior_ , she said, _one day you'll be a great king_. But somehow he knew, in the way of dreams, that it wasn't really his mother speaking, but Merlin, and there he was, by Arthur's side, and Arthur knew that he'd been there all along.

*

Arthur woke early, restless. A grey dawn was creeping up in the east as he dressed and left the castle. He didn't think his shoulder would be able to take a ride yet, but he could certainly walk, and he suddenly felt he needed to be outside with nothing over his head but sky.

The exercise was pleasant enough, the earth damp and smelling alive from rain overnight. Winter was coming – the cool air had a definite bite at this time of the morning – and perhaps that was it, or perhaps it was his troubled dreams, but Arthur couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding he had woken with.

Returning to the castle he breakfasted and then paced around his chambers, fully aware he was avoiding going to see Hunith, and feeling wretched for it.

Sir Kay dropped by mid-morning to collect instructions for the knights' training, and Arthur even considered attending his father's council meeting before finally pulling himself together some time around midday, and walking over to Gaius's chambers.

Quiet voices drifted down from Merlin's room and as he got nearer, Arthur could hear Morgana speaking.

"...we didn't want to worry you."

"Did you know, before this?" Hunith. Something in her tone, both sharp and anxious, made Arthur pause with his hand on the door latch.

There was an uncomfortable silence and then Gwen's voice, reluctant, "We suspected."

"Arthur doesn't know," Morgana said, too quickly, and for some reason Arthur felt as though the bottom had just dropped out of his stomach.

"Doesn't know what?" he asked quietly, stepping into the room, suddenly furious.

Gwen flinched and quickly moved to hide something she was holding in her pocket; Hunith stood by the bed, a strange, trapped look on her face; Morgana stared him down, defiant expression a little too late to completely conceal the flash of guilt.

"Eavesdropping, Arthur? How chivalrous."

"What's going on?" he demanded, ignoring the barb.

"Nothing that concerns-"

"Morgana," he warned, almost at the same time as Hunith said, "My lady, please."

Morgana looked mulish for a second, staring daggers at Arthur, then backed down, inclining her head towards Hunith, who nodded and drew in a breath.

"Gwen found a letter," Hunith began. "Gaius left it for Merlin the morning he left Camelot. It seems he-" she stopped, looking somewhere between bewildered and quietly distraught, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Before he could think about it, Arthur knelt in front of her, taking her hand.

"Please," he asked, and to his ears it sounded like desperation. Hunith looked up, eyes shining and shockingly blue, and Arthur missed Merlin with a sudden sharp pang that felt like a blow to the chest.

"You're a good boy," she said softly, reaching to touch his cheek, and it felt like trust. "Merlin was planning to try to find a priestess, a sorceress, to bargain with for my life. Gaius thought it would be too dangerous, so he went in Merlin's place. When he realised what Gaius had done, he must have gone straight after him."

"And what price," Arthur asked, voice low and dangerous, "does a sorceress put on the life of another?"

"In the letter," Gwen said quietly, "Gaius said he would gladly die in Merlin's place."

"We think Merlin went after Gaius to stop him," Morgana added. "And now, Hunith has been cured..."

"You think one of them...?" Arthur began to ask, but found he couldn't finish, the words lost somewhere between disgust and horror. "How long have you known about this?" Morgana looked away. "I cannot believe," he hissed at her, "that you kept this from me."

"And what could you have done?" she snapped back. " _Arthur_!" But he was already down the stairs and heading for the door.

*

Arthur ignored the wash of pain as he heaved the saddle onto his horse. _Idiot_ , he thought savagely, _idiot, idiot, idiot_. Only Merlin would think something like that was a good idea, trading his life in like an old belt. Seeking out _magic_ , of all things!

What had he been thinking? Hunith had barely been in Camelot a day before Merlin disappeared on his fool's errand – nowhere near enough time to diagnose and attempt to treat her illness. How on earth could he have possibly known none of Gaius's treatments would work? How could he just throw himself onto the chopping block like that? And without even telling... Wait.

" _Idiot_ ," he shouted, startling his horse, and this time he didn't know whether it was directed at Merlin or himself. That evening, when Merlin had come to see him – he hadn't been trying to leave his job, he'd been saying _goodbye_ , and Arthur had been too drugged up to realise it.

Getting in a tangle with the girth, he growled in frustration and stopped to fight his sling off.

"Here," Morgana said, coming up behind him and putting a hand on his shoulder, "let me."

Arthur gritted his teeth and waited impatiently for her to free his arm, back stiff, staring straight ahead.

"Which direction will you ride in?" Morgana asked conversationally as she slipped the linen from his shoulder. Arthur didn't reply, reaching back down for the girth. "It's obvious he's nowhere in Camelot – Uther would take special pains to hunt down a sorceress as powerful as that," she continued. "I suppose the Mercian border would be the best place to start, only a day and a half's ride. King Bayard would be sure to give you a warm welcome."

"What's your point, Morgana?" Arthur ground out, finishing with the girth and adjusting the stirrups.

"Arthur, you've barely any supplies, you've no support, you don't even know where to start looking, not mention you're still-"

"Shh!"

"I will not-"

" _Quiet_ , Morgana."

Arthur listened. Coming through the gates and into the courtyard was the familiar sound of horses' hooves on the flagstones. He ran outside, blood roaring in his ears, heart in his throat. For a moment, the bright sunlight dazzled him, then as he shielded his eyes he could see the two riders coming towards the stables. He breathed in a deep, shaky breath, unaware until now that he'd been holding it. _Two_ , he thought, _two_.

" _Merlin!_ " he bellowed across the courtyard. Bedraggled, dirty, looking exhausted, Merlin looked up and grinned. Arthur marched over and punched him hard on the thigh.

"Ow!"

"Where the _hell_ have you been?"

Merlin looked down at him, a ridiculously sheepish expression on his face. "I didn't think you'd notice?"

Arthur stared at him for long seconds, incredulous beyond his facility with language. In the end, all he could do was shake his head and lead Merlin's horse into the stables. It seemed safer than speaking.

*

"Merlin!" Morgana exclaimed. In the relative gloom of the stables she seemed to turn pale, a strange expression on her face like she'd seen a ghost. Then she strode over to where Merlin was sliding from his horse and very firmly wrapped her arms around Arthur's manservant.

Speechless, Arthur wasn't sure what to object to first. He half expected Merlin to look over at him with that helpless expression he sometimes got around women, but instead, after a moment's hesitation, he returned Morgana's embrace, whispering something in reply to her muffled words. Arthur turned away, suddenly uncomfortable, and helped Gaius down from his saddle.

The old physician looked tired and grumpier than usual, but he glanced at Arthur with a sharp eye, and then called, "Morgana my dear, I must request your help, I seem to have hurt my hip with all this riding."

"Gaius, of course," she said, coming over, and Arthur was a little horrified to see that she looked as though she had been crying. Offering him her arm, she helped him limp out of the stables.

Allowing the stable hands to deal with Gaius and Merlin's horses, Arthur returned to his own horse, Merlin trailing after him.

"How's your arm?" Merlin asked tentatively after a moment.

"Fine," he muttered, just as bright hot fire stabbed through his shoulder as he attempted to haul the saddle back off.

"Let me do that." Merlin took the saddle from him, carrying it back to its pummel. "Where were you going?"

"On a fool's errand," he replied, "to find a fool."

"I really am sorry, Arthur."

Ignoring him, Arthur said pointedly, "Your mother's better."

"Oh, right, good – that's great!" Merlin said brightly, and Arthur realised that he already knew.

"You knew that already, didn't you?"

"No," he said, eyeing Arthur carefully now, "I mean – how could I?"

"You're going to go and see Hunith," Arthur told him, "Then you're going to get cleaned up, and then you're going to come to my chambers and we're going to have a little chat about sorceresses, is that understood, Merlin?"

Merlin's face seemed to still, his expression suddenly unreadable, and his voice was faint when he said, "Yes, Sire."

*

Arthur's mood had softened somewhat by the time Merlin finally appeared, bringing the evening meal. He entered silently, eyeing Arthur in a way he seemed to think was surreptitious as he set out the dinner things, then put the tray aside and sat down in the opposite chair.

"Listen, Arthur-"

"There's no need, Merlin," he interrupted, "I already know what you're going to say."

"You... do?"

"Yes, Guinevere and Morgana told me everything – they found the letter Gaius left for you."

"They did!" Merlin said, sitting back, eyes widening slightly.

"Yes, they did," Arthur replied, dipping a hunk of bread in his stew and ripping a piece off. "I was angry at first, of course," he said around his mouthful, "Magic is incredibly dangerous, Merlin, you shouldn't have got mixed up with it. If my father ever found out, for one-" Merlin opened his mouth, " _not that he will_ ," Arthur emphasised, and Merlin closed his mouth again.

"You're taking this very well," Merlin said weakly, after a moment.

"It was your mother's life," Arthur said dismissively, waving his bread, "of course you had to do something."

"Right."

"I just think that throwing yourself down as a sacrificial lamb to the first sorceress you could find was not the only, or even the best, course of action. She would have obliterated you without a second thought, you know. How did both of you manage to get away, anyway?"

Merlin stared at him in what looked to Arthur like confusion, though sometimes with Merlin it was hard to tell, then something seemed to click and he said, very quietly, "Oh." He paused, staring at Arthur oddly, then swallowed audibly and said, "We got lucky. She—she dropped her guard and, uh, Gaius managed to distract her long enough for me to, you know, with a sword." He stopped, staring down at his hands resting uncharacteristically still on the tabletop.

Thinking he understood, Arthur half stood and reached over to clap Merlin on the shoulder. "Don't worry," he said, "she would have killed _you_ if she'd had the chance."

"Yeah, she certainly tried," Merlin said, with a bitter little laugh, and just for a moment, a mere fraction of a second, Arthur had a flicker of doubt, a sharp point of a feeling, prodding at his insides, that they were in fact not talking about the same thing. Then it passed, and Arthur spared a moment to think, _what nonsense_ , before moving on to more important matters.

"What did Morgana say to you, back at the stables?"

Merlin looked relieved at the change of subject. "Oh, you know, just... was I alright, how was the journey, she was glad I was alive, that kind of thing."

"Hm," Arthur meant to say, except it came out more like _hmpf_.

"The kinds of things a normal person asks when their friend returns from a perilous journey," Merlin added pointedly, but he was grinning, and Arthur couldn't help returning it.

"All things considered, Merlin," he said mock-grudgingly, "I suppose I'm glad you're back."

"Me too."

*

Arthur had just sent Merlin back down to the kitchen with the empty dishes when he remembered a message he had meant to send to Sir Kay. He supposed he could wait for Merlin's return, but who knew how long that would be. It would just be easier to go himself, and then there was no risk of Merlin forgetting, or causing some other misunderstanding.

He wondered idly what judgement it passed on him that he had stopped feeling the injustice of such inconveniences months ago.

He was on his way back some minutes later, passing the steps leading up to Morgana's rooms, when he noticed her door was ajar. Frowning at the lateness of the hour, he climbed them quickly with the intention of giving her a few very satisfying remarks. Instead he paused in surprise, not quite at the top, when he heard Merlin's voice.

"...know that you know. The letter..." He was talking about the sorceress, Arthur realised.

It was Gwen who replied. "I'm sorry, Merlin."

"No, it's actually okay," and he sounded surprised at himself. "You need to be careful, though."

"Of course!" That was Morgana, and she sounded offended.

"No, I mean, if anyone found out, then you two..." he didn't finish, and nothing more was said for a few seconds, before Arthur heard Morgana's voice again, though she was speaking so quietly he couldn't make out her words anymore.

He frowned. Of course they were talking about the sorceress. What else could it be about? And yet...

Morgana laughed, a clear, genuinely delighted sound he rarely seemed to hear from her, and Arthur decided that listening at doorways like this was beneath him, and continued to his own chambers.

*

Arthur laid in bed that night unaccountably restless, in and out of sleep so often it felt as though he'd had none at all. Those damn dreams – the small part of him that had given any thought to it at all had reasoned that he kept dreaming of Merlin because he was worried about him. But now he was back, and none the worse for wear, Arthur struggled to understand why his manservant was still haunting him. He yawned and rolled over.

...Arthur knelt at the chopping block, awaiting his fate, but the fatal blow never came and cautiously, he looked up. Merlin stood over him, holding the axe and looking thoughtful, then he grinned and broke the axe handle over his thigh. Arthur, on his feet now, clapped Merlin on the shoulder and grinned back. _I owe it all to Gaius_ , he said, and Merlin just stared at him like he was an idiot.

A loud _pop_ from the fireplace brought Arthur awake again, and he rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes in bleary frustration. He shoulder throbbed where he had inadvertently put his weight on it, and his bladder was full. Sighing in resignation, he got up to use the chamber pot, then grabbed a cup and a jug of wine left on the table from dinner and went to his chair by the hearth, where he slouched moodily staring sightlessly into the fire.

*

He was still there, eyes aching and dry but refusing to stay closed, when Merlin let himself in as the sky started to lighten.

"Oh, you're awake," Merlin said. Arthur didn't reply, but rubbed his chin, putting a thought together. "Everything alright? Arthur?"

"Your friend Will was the only experience you had of magic, before you came to Camelot," he finally said, only half a question.

Merlin answered anyway, "Yes."

"I imagine he only ever used magic for good, to benefit people."

"Well," Merlin said, and Arthur, still facing the fire, could hear the smile in his voice, "sometimes he used it for fun, or mischief," he conceded, "and sometimes, by accident. His dad was pretty strict about him letting anyone find out, but, yeah, when we really needed him, he always managed to find a way to do something to help."

"But he certainly never used it for evil purposes."

"No," Merlin said firmly, "never."

"The problem, Merlin, is that you seem to think that every witch and wizard is like Will. Magic is dangerous, I've seen it do great harm, even within the walls of this castle, but you seem – have always seemed – unafraid of it."

"No," Merlin said, voice low, "I've seen what magic can do in the wrong hands."

"Unfazed, then," Arthur amended. "And the only reason I can come up with is that, throughout your life, you have primarily known it as a benign power."

Merlin didn't reply immediately, but Arthur could hear him approaching, coming around the table and chair to stand in front of him by the fire.

"I knew what I was getting into," he said quietly, "and I'd do it again, if I had to."

Arthur looked up into Merlin's eyes, gone suddenly intense, and said tiredly, "I was afraid you'd say that," and then yawned massively, feeling his exhaustion crashing down on him.

"Have you been here all night?" Merlin asked, eyeing him disapprovingly.

Arthur thought about denying it, but in the end he just muttered, "Trouble sleeping."

"Come on," Merlin said, hauling him up, "I think a few more hours of beauty sleep is what's called for, for the sake of my eyes if nothing else."

"What's wrong with your eyes?" Arthur asked stupidly.

"They have to look at you, looking as though you're half dead," Merlin said, giving him his _you idiot_ look, and Arthur remembered his dream.

"Did you help Gaius find a cure for me?" he asked around another yawn, getting back into bed, "For the questing beast's bite?"

Merlin seemed to hesitate, but then said simply, "Yes."

Arthur nodded, satisfied that that explained that. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Merlin said with a wry half-smile, and drew the bed curtains closed. Arthur fell asleep so fast he didn't remember Merlin leaving.

*

Arthur sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, starting to feel resigned to Merlin's constant presence in his dreams. This time, they'd been hunting – he remembered firing the shot at the unicorn, and Merlin's face, stricken, as it lay dying. He remembered crouching down beside him, and his own words, _Sometimes I think I know you, Merlin. Other times..._ and Merlin had been about to reply when a clatter in the room had woken him, leaving him feeling thwarted somehow.

"Sorry," Merlin said, bending to pick up the stoker he'd knocked over by the fireplace. Straightening up he caught Arthur looking at him. "What?"

"Nothing. What time is it?"

"Early, still. Breakfast?"

"Thank you."

As he ate, Arthur continued to watch Merlin as he moved about the room, straightening and tidying. He seemed tired – slow – and a little stiff in his movements, all to be expected after three or four days' riding, but there was something else that Arthur couldn't quite put his finger on.

"You're quiet this morning," he commented.

"I've just spent the last two days having my ear talked off by Gaius and my mother. I think I've forgotten how my voice works."

"I doubt it!" Arthur scoffed, which earned an idiotic grin from Merlin. "And you shouldn't talk about Hunith like that – she was very worried about you."

Merlin seemed to sober, slightly. "I know." He picked up a tunic and folded it, looking thoughtful. "She said you helped to care for her, while I was away."

"Yes. Tell me, Merlin – why is it you never mentioned that your mother used to be a maid at Camelot?"

"You never asked?" Merlin hedged. Arthur frowned at him. "Besides," he added hurriedly, "she wasn't here for very long – it's not like Uther even recognized her when she stood before him."

"Clearly she was here long enough for her to feel comfortable sending her only son to the court physician."

"My mother and Gaius, they kind of have a special relationship. He gave her some training while she was here."

"Ah."

"She said it's all very different these days, anyway," and Arthur immediately thought of his own mother, the queen, who apparently had looked just like him. He allowed himself to try and picture her, but all he came up with was a vision of Morgana with blonde hair, which was just disturbing.

Merlin was eyeing him, looking like he wanted to say something more, so Arthur headed him off with instructions about which clothes to get ready, and a list of chores for the day.

*

Now that he had, for the most part, got his strength back, Gaius was allowing him to take up some of his duties again. He spent the remainder of the morning shouting at his knights from the sidelines of the training field, frustrated that he was reduced to positioning their limbs like puppets instead of being able to show them himself what he wanted them to do. He no longer needed to wear the sling, but his shoulder and arm felt stiff and heavy, and he couldn't move without pain leeching out from the site of the wound. By midday he was exhausted and almost glad they were scheduled to go off on patrol without him in the afternoon.

He had to return to his chambers before going to lunch with his father, somewhat aggrieved to find himself in need of a change of clothing from the mild exertion. Stripping his shirt off he went to the basin, ringing out the washcloth, and started to wipe himself down. It proved harder than he'd hoped, unable to raise his left arm much above his waist.

He was leaning on the table, glaring down at the washbasin in an attempt to calm his mounting frustration, when Merlin came in carrying a stack of fresh bed linen.

"Alright?" he asked, sounding puzzled.

"I need some help," Arthur ground out. Despite Morgana's ceaseless needling, bathing was not one thing Arthur required his servants to do for him – his personal habits were a matter of pride, his father had always told him – and it irritated him now to ask for assistance.

Showing a moment of rare wisdom, Merlin kept quiet about it, leaving the linen stack on the chest at the end of the bed before coming over. "Turn around," he said, reaching past Arthur for the washcloth. He ran the cloth with quick, efficient strokes down Arthur's right side, where he had been unable to reach, then placed his hands on Arthur's shoulders to turn him again, releasing him quickly when Arthur winced.

"Sorry," he said, eyes flicking to Arthur's face before settling on the scabbing welt above his left collarbone. "I didn't think it would still be so tender."

Arthur was about to make a cutting remark about the number of serious wounds Merlin had clearly never had to recover from, when the other man gently laid his hand, palm flat, against the damaged skin. Arthur hissed at the contact, but before he could draw breath to shout about it, the cool of Merlin's skin soaked through the inflamed heat of his own, and the incessant ache seemed to recede a little.

Feeling slightly dazed, he stared mutely at Merlin, who glanced up and smiled tightly. "Better?"

"Yes! How did you...?"

A hand on just his good shoulder this time, Merlin turned him and started on his back. "Gaius said the wound would get hot and itchy as it healed, so cooling it down will help. I'll bring you a salve this evening, before you go to bed."

"Thank you," Arthur said, and barely noticed, as Merlin dressed him in a fresh shirt, that he could now raise both arms over his head.

*

Arthur discussed grain storage with his father over lunch – it seemed they had an overabundance since the unicorn's curse had been lifted, and Sir Alfred wanted Uther to build a larger, more long-term silo.

It made him feel good, to be well enough again to be capable of advising the King, and at the conclusion of their meal, as Arthur was leaving, Uther laid a heavy hand on his shoulder, and said,

"Your recovery is quite remarkable Arthur – it shows a strength that will serve you well as king."

"Perhaps Gaius deserves another commendation, Sire," Arthur replied, determined not to break out into the face-splitting smile he felt threatening.

Uther chuckled, "Perhaps."

After that, Arthur felt in such a good mood that he willingly sought out Morgana. They walked up to the spinney just beyond the training field and gathered conkers like they were children again.

"Careful," Arthur laughed as she climbed up onto a high-growing root with a stick in her hand to shake the branches. "You'll tear your dress."

"I don't remember that ever bothering you before," she replied tartly.

"Yes, well, I'm old enough now to realise that I'll get the blame."

"And why is that?"

"Because I'm the Crown Prince and you're my responsibility."

Morgana raised an eyebrow, looking infuriatingly superior for a moment, before giving a vigorous shake and Arthur was pelted from above with spiky conker shells. "Careful, your majesty," she smiled, sarcastic. "The last time we fought with swords I beat you."

"I told you, that never happened!"

"Hmm," she said, coming over and picking up one of the conkers now scattered around Arthur's feet. Holding it up to her eyes, she examined it critically. "It doesn't seem that heavy."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but really, he was glad to see Morgana looking healthy again – looking normal. Those periods when she seemed to turn a little wild, when she didn't sleep because she was so afraid of what she'd dream, were some of the worst times of Arthur's childhood. Thankfully it happened only rarely, years in between each episode. He didn't know what it meant that it seemed to be happening to her more frequently as they got older – he hoped nothing.

They sat down on the ancient seat some old stonemason had built in a circle around the trunk of an oak, boring holes through their conkers to thread the wool.

"Hunith's returning to Ealdor tomorrow," Morgana said, working her needle through the hard rind.

Arthur looked up, "So soon?"

"She's perfectly healthy again," Morgana shrugged. "A benefit of healing with magic."

"Morgana," Arthur warned, though he wondered what else he could say if she forced the matter – he didn't really disagree with her. Thankfully, she didn't, looking at him instead out of the corner of her eye in a way that made him feel distinctly uncomfortable.

"Do make sure you say goodbye."

"Of _course_ I will," he replied, clenching his jaw in irritation, because Morgana had that knowing look on her face and he didn't like it at all. He hadn't really spoken to Hunith since she had told him about his mother and it wasn't because of that, it was just that Merlin and Gaius had returned and suddenly he'd been busy again.

"For some reason, God only knows why, she seems to like you, Arthur," she said, and it sounded a little like a warning.

Changing the subject, Arthur said, "You and Merlin seem to have become very close recently. Do I need to start preparing my father?"

Morgana smirked at him. "Only if I'm there to see it. You're not jealous are you?"

"Of _Merlin_?" Arthur laughed, incredulous. "I refuse to dignify that with an answer." But Morgana was looking at him thoughtfully, and he got the feeling perhaps he'd misunderstood her meaning, though he'd no idea how.

They returned later in the afternoon, bruised-knuckled from trying to outwit each other at conkers. Arthur refused to let Morgana win just because she was a lady, but Morgana didn't seem to appreciate that and it was a close-run thing, stopping only when Gwen, returning from an errand in the town, looked in horror at the state of Morgana's hands and Arthur felt shamed into surrender.

They parted company in the courtyard, Morgana led away by Gwen to a warm bowl of salty water, and Arthur made a decision. He turned away from the door that would lead to his own chambers, and went instead towards Gaius's.

Gaius, it appeared, was out on his rounds, and Merlin seemed for once to be doing the work Arthur had told him to do, and so Hunith was there alone, chopping herbs on a bench in the workroom. She stopped when she saw Arthur at the door.

"Prince Arthur, come in, please."

He smiled, vaguely amused at himself that this was the only door in the castle he could ever remember waiting to be invited through, other than his father's.

"Morgana said you're to leave for Ealdor tomorrow," he said.

She nodded, pushing stray hairs out of her face with the back of her hand, fingers stained green. "I've recovered completely, there's no sense in crowding up Gaius's home any longer."

Arthur found himself wanting to disagree, wanting to say _nonsense, you can surely stay another month_ the way his father did sometimes with this noble or that at court. But Hunith wasn't a noble and Arthur knew that if she didn't return home soon a rain storm would damage her roof so that it leaked and her unpicked apples would fall and rot on the ground.

"You must take some of our cider with you," he said instead. "Prove to James once and for all that Camelot cider is the best in Albion."

"You're very kind, Sire."

"And Beth in the kitchen has just smoked a cheddar."

"Thank you."

Arthur fell into silence, mouth too full of words he wasn't sure he could say. Turning his back on Hunith, he walked over to the large workbench in the middle of the room, distractedly picking up and fingering the assortment of vessels there.

"My father never speaks of my mother, you know," he said eventually, after an awkward minute or two. "She died giving birth to me and I think she took a part of him with her."

Hunith stopped chopping and wiped her hands on her apron. "I'm sorry to have caused you pain, Sire," she said, forehead creased in concern.

"No. No, what I meant was, no one _had_ ever told me before that I looked like her." He paused. "No one's ever told me anything about her, really."

Hunith nodded, removing her apron and going to the fireplace where one of Gaius's tea pots hung. "I wasn't here for a great deal of time, but perhaps I can tell you something. Why don't you sit down?" she said, unhooking the pot and pouring two cups.

Arthur sat. "She had blonde hair," he said without thinking, immediately feeling stupid, but Hunith just nodded.

"And blue eyes," she added. Arthur thought of his father's eyes, grey and brown.

"How tall was she?"

"Not much bigger than me, Sire. The King dwarfed her in size, but she had a presence... she could command the attention of a chamber of the King's advisors when she needed to."

"What did she like?"

Hunith considered this. "Honey, on bread," she said, "and everything else as well! Gaius insisted that she eat more fruit, to help her get with child, and the only way she would stomach it was covered in honey. I remember there was a copse the far side of the training field – your father left those trees standing when the others were cleared further back, because there was an old oak she used to like to sit under to think. The seneschal had a seat made for her around the trunk."

Arthur listened, drinking in Hunith's words like water on a hot day. Outside, the sun was sinking towards the horizon, but he couldn't pay attention to anything but the sound of her voice.

Eventually, Gaius came back, and Arthur got up to leave, feeling both buoyant and strangely brittle, and in saying his goodbyes, completely forgot about his intention to ask Gaius about his dreams.

*

Arthur stumbled into his chambers from dinner with his knights with rather more wine in him than he'd intended. He had spent most of the evening more than a little distracted, his mind still wrapping itself around everything Hunith had told him, and hadn't noticed how many goblets he'd got through until he'd tried to stand and found his legs unequal to it.

It was warmer in his chambers than in the great hall and feeling flushed, Arthur shrugged out of his jacket and loosened the laces on the front of his shirt. His mother had liked honey and hated cut flowers.

He ran a hand down his face then leaned against the chimneybreast, silently contemplating his boots for a while before attempting to toe them off. She'd had a temper to match his father's, and ruled in his place when he was away.

"Can you ever imagine my father allowing someone else to make decisions for him?" he asked Merlin.

"No," Merlin said immediately, from where he was turning down the bed, "Not unless there was sorcery involved."

This, Arthur decided, was the funniest thing he'd heard all evening, and felt a strange laugh bubbling out of him.

"You're drunk," Merlin said, coming over, but he was grinning as if it was contagious.

Arthur shrugged agreeably, and allowed himself to be led over to the bed and undressed.

"I was sitting on her seat earlier, under the oak," he said as Merlin put his belt aside and began unlacing the cuffs of his shirt.

"What?" he asked distractedly, but Arthur just shook his head, unable to speak suddenly around the lump in his throat.

In just his breeches, Merlin pushed him down to sit on the edge of the bed and produced a small bottle from his pocket that looked like one of Gaius's ointments.

"If it's that one that smells like week-old horse's hay again..." he warned, and Merlin rolled his eyes.

"It's a salve to cool your wound, remember," he said, uncorking the bottle and pouring some onto his hand, and Arthur surprised himself by thinking _what wound?_ for a second, before Merlin began rubbing it into his skin and, of course, _that_ wound.

It stung, but then gradually as the air touched it, a cool tingle ran over his skin and he groaned in relief, only realising now how much it had been aching. Closing his eyes, he let himself fall back on the bed, hearing Merlin sigh in irritation and feeling the mattress dip as he had to climb over to reach him, and not caring. Merlin continued to massage the salve all the way down his arm, bringing cool waves of relief and the smell of mint and camomile, and Arthur was almost asleep by the time Merlin pulled his socks off and lifted his legs up onto the bed, feeling deeply contented.

*

 _I know you_ , Merlin said, placing the crown on Arthur's head. They stood face to face, Merlin looking at him expectantly, and Arthur felt a buzz of anticipation. He awoke then, the feeling of anticipation still with him, though after a few minutes he couldn't really remember why.

*

"Merlin, you've been living with Gaius for the better part of a year now." Arthur stood looking out of the window, squinting against the harsh morning light, eating from a bunch of grapes.

"Er, right..." Merlin said from somewhere behind him, sounding dubious.

"Even you must have picked up a thing or two."

"If this is about that-"

"Dreams, Merlin."

There was a confused pause. "Sorry?"

Arthur turned, looking back into the room at his manservant loading a cloth bag for the laundry. "What do you know about interpreting dreams?"

"Only that it doesn't count when you're too drunk to walk in a straight line."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Helpful as ever." He found himself waiting for some kind of retort, mildly surprised when nothing was forthcoming.

Merlin was quiet throughout the remainder of Arthur's breakfast, and all the way down to the stables as they went together to bid his mother farewell.

Sam, Hunith's horse, looked laden down and Arthur felt an unaccustomed twinge of – something, not quite guilt – at having ordered so much for her. Morgana and Gwen were there too, Gwen hugging Hunith like her own mother before Hunith came over to Arthur. Reaching up, she touched his cheek as she had done in Merlin's room a couple of days before, and said quietly,

"You know you can write to me, if there's anything else you want to ask."

Arthur nodded, solemn in his gratitude, and she smiled, turning away to find Merlin. As they spoke in low voices to one another, Morgana appeared at his elbow.

"You know," she said, "We have woodsmen to gather wood."

"Very good, Morgana, I see all those expensive tutors really paid off."

"I know you've never really outgrown your brattish phase," she retorted, "but setting Merlin pointless tasks just for your own amusement really is quite childish."

" _What_ are you talking about?"

She arched an eyebrow at him, then said, infuriatingly slowly as if talking to the village dimwit, "There was no reason to send Merlin into the forest all afternoon."

Arthur pretended to think about this. "You're quite right," he said. "What a good job I didn't."

Not keen to carry on the inane conversation, Arthur went to take Sam's reigns as Hunith mounted, then walked with them out to the courtyard. She smoothed one last affectionate hand through Merlin's hair, then spurred the horse on, trotting past the guards at the main gate and out.

Arthur looked at Merlin, gone quiet again, and saw that in the daylight he looked strained, the skin around his eyes pale and taut.

"You should visit her more often," he said as they started walking back.

Merlin nodded, but didn't look at him. "I'd like to."

Arthur felt compelled to add, "You know it's the foresters' job to chop the firewood, don't you."

"Er, yes?"

"So what were you doing all afternoon in the woods yesterday?"

There was a pause, and then Merlin glanced at him, Arthur thought a little guiltily. "Communing with nature?"

Arthur smacked him lightly on the back of the head. "Idiot. Come on, we're going hunting."

*

The sky was turning overcast as they walked the horses out towards the forest. Arthur was pleased that there was nothing more than a slight discomfort in his shoulder now, barely noticeable. Merlin didn't seem any happier, though, sitting hunched up in his saddle, a certain tightness in his face. It had been an odd week, Arthur reflected – for both of them. The castle could be claustrophobic, it was good for them to get away.

They stopped before the tree line, spotting a herd of fallow deer grazing in the bracken, following them idly up the hillside for an hour or so before stopping at a rocky outcropping, scooped out by the elements into a shelter that the knights sometimes used as a campsite for training. Tying the horses up to a lone hawthorn bush at the edge of a brook, Arthur began unpacking his hunting gear from the saddlebags as Merlin stood stroking his old cob's nose, staring off into the bracken looking very much preoccupied.

"Come on," Arthur said when he was ready. Merlin didn't move. "Merlin. _Mer_ lin."

"Sorry!" Merlin said, snapping back to himself.

"Communing with nature again?" Arthur asked, amused.

"Something like that."

Luck didn't seem to be with him this morning, and by lunchtime Arthur had only shot a brace of rabbits, Merlin absent-mindedly making enough noise to keep the deer out of range. But Arthur was enjoying being mobile and so was feeling magnanimous about it.

They made their way back to the campsite, Merlin complaining that there was no dry kindling to light a fire, Arthur berating him for not bringing any with them, and while Merlin arranged the twigs he'd gathered, Arthur went over to the horses to fetch his skinning knife and when he turned back a couple of seconds later he saw that flames were already licking up through the little pyramid Merlin had built, the wood hissing as it dried out.

When Arthur stared at him pointedly, Merlin just shrugged and said, "Yes alright, not as wet as it looked."

Sitting side by side on a log, they each skinned and gutted a rabbit and then spitted them over the fire. Merlin had that same distracted expression on his face as earlier, staring blindly into the flames, the firelight reflected in his eyes.

"Spit it out, Merlin," Arthur told him finally.

Merlin turned to him, surprised. "Sorry?"

"Tell me: what's wrong?" Arthur clarified, speaking deliberately.

"What? Nothing's wrong. Why do you ask?"

He sighed, feeling put upon in the extreme. "You've been behaving strangely ever since you got back. I can't quite put my finger on it."

Merlin turned back to the fire, smiling slightly. "You've said that to me before."

"Have I."

"After you beat me up in the marketplace when I first came to Camelot."

"You never did know your place."

There was a pause, and then Merlin sat up and turned his whole body to face him. "Arthur," he said, and he didn't look faraway anymore, he looked very much there, and there was something in his voice now, something intense and urgent, and Arthur felt his heartbeat speed up in response. "There's something I need to tell you." Above, the sky was clouding over, the day suddenly very dim and Merlin's eyes seemed to glow golden in the firelight.

A flare of sudden heat threw them both backwards off the log, and when Arthur looked up the campfire was a towering column of flame, twice as tall as him and licking into the darkened sky. Scrambling backwards, Arthur dragged Merlin with him, just in time as the column seemed to collapse, spilling out in a circle catching the bracken alight, reaching almost to the brook before receding like a wave, leaving the earth charred and steaming in its wake.

The whole thing had taken less than ten seconds, and Arthur glanced breathlessly at Merlin who was staring ashen faced at the destroyed earth before them.

"What the hell just happened?" Arthur said.

"I-"

They stared at one another, the silence stretching taut and bewildered until Arthur's mare snorted nervously, stamping her hooves, and Arthur said, "Come on," and dragged Merlin around the edge of the blackened ring, back to the horses.

*

"Sorcery," Uther said, and Arthur remembered a half listened-to conversation from dinner the night before, the knights talking about reports from the villages.

"There have been rumours of a sorcerer in the woods around Camelot in the last couple of days," Arthur said, "I didn't take them seriously, but perhaps I was wrong."

"Find him," Uther said, glowering. "Whatever it takes. I want him brought to justice."

"Yes, Sire."

Across the room, Arthur caught Morgana's expression, her mouth a tight, bitter line.

*

Merlin wasn't anywhere to be found when Arthur returned with his knights. It had been drizzling with rain when they set out, and pouring hard and cold by the time they got back, defeated by the darkness and the weather. And when he got back to his rooms the grate was cold, none of the candles were lit, no dinner, no hot bath and definitely no Merlin.

Arthur still wasn't sure exactly what had happened earlier. He hadn't seen anyone, and the trees had been too far away to hide in, but the bracken was chest-high in places and thick. Some of his knights had reported seeing strange lights and feeling tremors in the ground, and the horses had been repeatedly unable to find sure footing. He didn't like it – he had a bad feeling about the whole thing and being left cold and soaking wet still in his armour was not improving his mood.

He tried the kitchens, and then Gaius's rooms, where the old physician gave him a piercing look, unusually reticent before admitting that he hadn't seen Merlin since that morning.

Anger and frustration mounting, Arthur tried Morgana's rooms in a last ditch attempt. They were unoccupied but a fire was roaring in the grate and Arthur, starting to shiver, only hesitated a moment before pulling up a chair and sitting close.

*

He was sitting by the fire in his chambers, arm in sling, groggy and tired, and he asked, _are you ever going to change, Merlin?_ Merlin spread his hands and said simply, _I can't._

Arthur jolted awake, head snapping up as he heard voices coming up the stairs, taking a second to remember where he was, the words from his dream still ringing in his ears.

"...you think it's him?"

"I don't know. It could be. Maybe he wasn't chopping wood."

"Then we need to do something to help him."

And Arthur was on his feet, staring wide-eyed at Morgana as she pushed the door open. She paled when she saw his expression. A second passed, snapped tight like the string of a bow, in which Arthur realised that he had been asking all the little questions and completely missing the great big one before him.

Then Morgana breathed, "Arthur-"

But he was already pushing past her, running for the stables.

*

Later, he wouldn't remember much about the ride out to the hillside, and what he did recall would come in flashes.

Galloping through the darkness, reigns gripped so tightly his hands ached. _Merlin touching his shoulder and the pain receding._

The rain stopping and the wind dying down. _Jumping across a chasm for a flower that would save his life._

Moonlight brightening and fading as the clouds slid over one another. _Merlin drinking poison for him, and months later Arthur doing the same._

The rock-strewn hillside, covered in reddish bracken. _A tornado from nowhere that saved Ealdor._

A circle of scorched earth. _Following a light to safety from the darkness._

And a man, whom Arthur knew he'd somehow chosen not to know at all.

*

Arthur slowed his horse down to a walk as he approached, assessing the figure in the middle of the burnt-out campsite in the now bright moonlight. He didn't know how he'd known to come here, he didn't know what he was going to do, but it was – it was _Merlin_ , for God's sake. Merlin, his clumsy, incompetent manservant who had somehow turned out to be not so stupid after all and the most loyal friend he'd ever had. And a sorcerer. Arthur dismounted before he had time to start reeling.

Merlin had been kneeling in the dirt, one hand pressed to the dead ground, but as Arthur approached he stood up. His face seemed to glow pale in the moonlight, hair ruffled, a smudge of ash on his cheek, and Arthur could see that he was trembling.

"Are you going to take me to your father?" he asked.

"No," Arthur said, and realised it was true – somewhere along the way here he'd made his decision. Merlin didn't react, seeming to look through Arthur. "It was you the villagers saw in the forest, wasn't it?" No reply. "What– why, Merlin?"

"I thought it would help, being away from the castle, but I can't control it," he said, voice strained, words sounding as though they were tumbling out against his will. "I've been trying, but it's been like this ever since I killed Nimueh. I didn't have to but it was so _easy_ , and I couldn't let Gaius die-"

"What are you talking about?"

"-I tried to give my life for yours but she didn't do it. I couldn't choose."

"Wait, are you saying you killed the sorceress to save me?"

"You, Gaius, my mother," he laughed manically, "and now I've mastered the power of life and death, apparently, and I can feel _everything_. I can _feel_ the earth, feel the magic in it, and I have to stop myself from just reaching out-" he gestured and sparks flew from his fingers, a deep, unsettled rumble seeming to rise up from the earth and just for a second, Merlin's eyes blazed gold.

Arthur stared, awestruck. In all the years his father had been executing warlocks, he had never seen magic like this.

"I didn't mean for this to happen, earlier," Merlin said helplessly, gesturing around him. "I wanted to tell you but part of me was afraid still and it just happened, and now I can't make it grow back."

"Is that something you've done before?" Arthur asked faintly, but Merlin didn't seem to hear. He stood, trembling and sheet white and skinny in his wet clothes, fists clenched tight at his sides, and Arthur was shocked at himself for not noticing this. All week, Merlin had just said, and Arthur had been too preoccupied with things that, when faced with it, were monumentally unimportant compared to his manservant being able to command fire and make the earth tremble.

Merlin closed his eyes with a look close to pain, and two lightning bolts flashed in close succession from the clear sky hitting the hillside with a sharp _thump-thump_. Arthur was suddenly very aware that he was still wearing plate armour and mail, but somehow it didn't matter – it was Merlin, and he couldn't feel threatened.

"How many times have you saved my life with magic?" he asked, moving carefully towards the other man.

"Nine."

He blew out a breath. "You know, I just thought I was lucky."

"You are," Merlin said, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards minutely, a blue glowing ball forming briefly in his right hand, "you have me to protect you." He looked at Arthur then, really looked at him for the first time since he'd rode up there. "I'm afraid, of what I can do," he said softly, and another deep wave of sound rolled through the hillside.

Arthur stepped close, feeling the faint pulse of magic surrounding Merlin envelop him too, warm on his exposed skin, and clasped Merlin's shoulders. "I'm not," he said, feeling the force of conviction in his words.

"Why?"

"Because you're still Merlin, and I trust you. That will never change." Arthur's fingers clenched in the stiff material of his jacket, and Merlin stared at him searchingly for long seconds, then nodded once, finding what he was looking for, and seemed to sag, the frantic, crackling energy blowing out of him all at once and he let his head fall forward with a muffled _clank_ to rest on Arthur's armoured shoulder.

They stood quietly like that, and Arthur watched the bracken waving in the breeze, casting strange shadows in the moonlight, and listened to Merlin breathing, feeling when the shivering began to subside.

"What you said about Will – you were actually talking about yourself?" Arthur asked after a while. Merlin moved his head in a motion that may have been a nod. "You healed my shoulder, didn't you?"

"Only by accident," Merlin admitted, pulling himself back up to meet Arthur's questioning expression. "I didn't mean for it to stop hurting completely."

Arthur cuffed him on the back of the neck, "Thanks." Merlin laughed a little shakily. "Come on," he said, "it's bloody freezing out here, let's get back to the castle," but Merlin stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Arthur," he said. "Thank you."

Arthur nodded, thinking of those nine times and feeling strange and proprietary. "You too."

Still, Merlin didn't release him, and when Arthur looked down, there was light shining from beneath his hand where his fingers wrapped around Arthur's chainmail, and Arthur saw new green bracken fronds growing through the blackened earth, unfurling around his boots.

From higher up on the hillside, a stormcock trilled. Merlin caught his eye and there he was, as Arthur had always known him, smiling foolishly and looking stupidly, endlessly happy to be alive.

"This doesn't change anything, you know," Arthur felt compelled to say, as they walked back to his horse. "You're still going to muck out my stables tomorrow."

Merlin watched him mount, eyes dancing in that special way of his. "And you're still a prat, _my lord_."

He reached down and Merlin clasped his hand, swinging up behind him.

"One day..." Arthur started. Merlin just laughed.


End file.
